Category: 2022

2022

the times

etikser

It was the image out the windshield that framed my state of mind. A car-lined street. And trees up and down both sides. The first time in many months I looked out and saw trees that looked like winter. They all looked like winter. A clear November sky, and it was the trees that made the statement.

Time marches forward. We’re practically at the beginning of December, yet I still feel I’m wandering, lost in time somehow. How long has it been with this feeling? Months for sure. Like I need to wake up one morning soon and feel grounded. Is this an end-of-summer thing? It’s been going on since then. I don’t think it’s that, but it’s a longing for the cold. I find myself looking forward, in hope, to colder days. I long to be reassured, comforted, free of fear and worries. Don’t we all? And I expect winter to deliver that comfort and freedom? Maybe I should read my book, and hope for the best.

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2022, summer

confluence

etikser

There should be a checklist. Fireflies. Fireworks. A spectacular storm that doesn’t bring down any trees. Coffee on a fresh morning after it’s rained. A walk on the beach. A walk in the woods. Staking tomatoes. Watering plants. Treading water and lazy laughs with friends. Snapdragons. Dragonflies. Bugs and muggy nights.

The confluence? July 23rd. An evening outside when there’s still more than a few fireflies, and already, crickets chirp, as if to announce a movement towards August. Surrounded by a blend of scents from the plants I love. It’s happened before, evenings like this, and I ponder which plants disperse that heavenly fragrance.

Inside, pink coneflower cuttings drop pollen on the countertop. As my cloth wipes away the yellow powder, I detect a floral scent. Not an overdone designer aroma. But the real-deal pollen floral scent.

Some golden bits of summer to store up, as if I’m capable, and hold for some lifeless November afternoon.

2022

patterns

etikser

The pasty smell of drywall and paint…tell-tale leftovers from the morning’s work.

Sheer curtains scarcely move at the open window, not enough to call it a flutter. And the afternoon sun floats columns of dark and light about the architecture of the panes and the surface of a half-drawn shade. Plaids, squares, rectangles.

The air works a gentle song from the chimes outside. A soft musical chant. I hear children down the street, and a distant car engine. Repetitious drumming, the tap, tap, tap, of a small animal.

There’s covid and war and the contradiction of what should feel normal in spring. Reactions feel confused and hollow. Optimistic/pessimistic/oppressive. Unworthy of a sunny beginning-of-spring afternoon.

2022

quiet

etikser

I dreamed there was an apparatus that could remove color from life. A device that could flip some switch to colorless. Like an unusual variety of color blind where everything goes black and white and gray. I felt the urgency of the dream. Not necessarily the craziness, but I felt the urgency.

In our dreams…in all our dreams, I suppose…everyday endeavors drag mentally. Our movements are ineffective, slow, tortuous. Navigation is near impossible. In this dream, I had some important assignment related to color. It required painting or coloring, and I stood challenged, facing a wooden color wheel and pondering the task at hand.

It was critical. Either I accomplish this task, or all sense of color would be gone. Luckily, dreams seem to end as haphazardly as they begin, and before the need for realization.